


Two Things

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Omorashi, Post-Canon, Watersports, not as kinky as you think but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 03:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5651311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo Ren learned, for certain, two things: that he was afraid, and that he needed a change of pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Things

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=1101626#cmt1101626) on the TFA kink meme. Unbeta'd.

Against the better judgement of the medical staff, Kylo Ren dismissed himself early from the med bay, despite his fresh and still tender wounds. Hux had tried to protest this, reasoning that it was better to stay bedridden until a full recovery. This earned a huff from Ren; he wondered why the officer was still trying to maintain pleasantries given the mutual animosity between each other. It was obvious that Hux favored a bedridden Kylo Ren over an active Kylo Ren. Although he did not give much for their rivalry, he would not let Hux have this one. And beyond one-upping Hux, he had to attend to his Master as a dutiful apprentice should. 

 

“Dark Lord Kylo Ren,” his Master had said during their first transmission after the Starkiller’s destruction. Ren inadvertently shivered at the sound of his name spoken by the Supreme Leader. “I am disappointed in you.” That shiver quickly dissipated.

 

Ren immediately rose from his bow, only to wince slightly from the stress put on his wound. Had he not been wearing his mask, his grimaced face would be visible to all. 

 

“Master, I shall not fa— disappoint you again.” The pain and waver in his voice in his subsequent response, however, came from the uneasy, mortified feelings rousing inside him. Without the presence of that sycophantic general—Hux—Snoke’s rolling, crushing force presence made itself completely known in the audience chamber. Usually, it was enthralling. It nutriated and filled sustenance to his yearning mind. For today? Suffocating. Distress and anger stirred in stomach, no doubt felt by his Master.  

 

Snoke raised a hand, stopping his apprentice’s excuses. Ren’s mouth clamped shut as if on its own accord. 

 

“I needn’t hear anymore drivel. I have presented everything you need—your mastery, your dwelling, your voice—and yet you have disappointed me. You are not as immune to the light as you  _ think _ .”

 

Ren gulped. 

 

“My apprentice, you are to meditate on this. Go to your chambers and do not come out until you can succinctly express your failings.” 

 

Was his Master so disappointed that he was relegated to the role of an unruly child placed in time out? 

 

Or perhaps his Master was aware of the poignancy of this punishment? Supreme Leader Snoke used the force as an extension of himself and if he pleased, could, with ease, reach into the workings of Ren’s head. He ignited feelings of passion, arranged memories and made Ren forget or seared it permanently into his mind—an unerasable holovid. Nothing would be more crushing than watching your defeat over and over again. 

 

While the bacta managed to treat the blaster bolt, burns, and lacerations from their entanglement, the disfiguring gash inflicted by the scavenger girl’s uncoordinated strokes left a pronounced scar running diagonally across his face. It was pink, still fresh with gnarled white raised tissue at the edges. Kylo Ren supposed this damning reminder was meant as a punishment more effective than any formal martial or any judicial system, for that matter, could ever present. The tase in his mouth became bitter every time he thought of her untamed force presence. It flared white with determination—indicative of unlocked potential—and yet it lacked that distinctive, heady swill of the Dark Side. The girl was most likely training under the Skywalker now, her raw talent to be blunted into a dull tool instead of the finely sharpened prowess she could possess, given that she accepted his proffer. Snoke was no fool and it was foolish to even begin to think he was. His apprentice would realize the err in his way while simultaneously sharpening his anger, honing it into a brilliant blade. 

 

Ren had given up all pretense of protest and merely bowed. “Yes, Master.” 

 

The transmission cut, the holo flickered off, and he took his leave. 

 

*

 

As he approached his meditation chamber, he was alerted to an urge. He began to turn to the nearest refresher before he stopped himself.  _ No _ , he reasoned.  _ If I lack the discipline to hold the most basest of urges, then what does that mean of my character?  _

 

He decided sharply against the detour and turned to enter before he was interrupted. The voice of an officer stopped him. 

 

“Sir,” the officer, RS-3329, called out with a shaky voice. He looked ready to bolt at any moment. “General Hux wants you to report to the conference room to discuss the contracts for the salvage crew for the base—”

 

Hux must have sent someone to search after him because Ren had turned off his comlink prior, not wanting to be disturbed.

 

“Enough!” Ren turned around and glowered at the officer. A fist slammed into the metal wall and a harsh noise followed, echoing and reverberating through the corridor. The officer froze, shaking slightly.

 

“Tell Hux I’m currently occupied.”  _ With better things to do than playing clean up _ , he wanted to add. The visibly discomforted officer nodded and quickly walked out of Ren’s field of vision. Ren scoffed at the sight of the fleeing man. He should have known better not to invade the sanctified space. 

 

With a simple gesture, the force-sensitive locks opened and the door whooshed open. Now rid of any distractions, Ren entered his private place. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dimness and he clearly saw the contents, or rather, lack of contents. Since it was a simulacra of the original chamber upon the Starkiller Base, the Finalizer’s chamber did not contain the artifacts that consigned its inviolable aspect.

 

Ren took his place in the middle of the chamber and sat, crisscrossed. The despondent feeling lurking within his chest deepened. Although the weathered, charred visage never answered to his calls, just the sight of it empowered Ren, empowered him the hopes that one day the owner would answer.  _ Yes _ , Ren recalled,  _ he’d come forth and he’d put his hand on my shoulder and the force hummed agreement and then the same familial bonds that chained me  _ freed  _ me. _

 

Without the presence of the relic, Kylo Ren was a drifting mote of dust in the force with no one to call on. 

 

He closed his eyes before the image of its absence could be seared into his eyes. 

 

The girl. He started there. The filthy scavenger from Jakku who had a wiry frame and sand under her fingernails. Her course, rough Outer-Rim accent dug her words deeper into his skin, made it sting more. The red glow of his lightsaber never casted for too long her as she would as fight back, and in return, the light touched him as she left one last glancing blow to his face. If she struck again and he died right then, he might have actually succeeded in luring her to the Dark Side and he would done something right for once. Her anger. He felt it swell, the thrum of the force making itself louder than the roaring pain of his injuries. She felt it too, the force. He delved into her thoughts for one last time and he could only see the agonized face of FN-2187. 

 

“Ben!” 

 

He froze. His skin was cold, bitterly cold. It gnawed at his bones. He ran his hands over his arms and found that they were covered in a thin, beige colored linen material. The cloak draped around him was ill-fitting. His hands flew to his face, trying to find the familiar touch of the metal. Instead, his gloveless fingers felt flesh, cold flesh. 

 

White snow, dormant and barren trees, the earth shaking beneath. He took a deep breath, cold, biting air filling his lungs. It felt raw, no vocoder acting as an intermediary between the chilly atmosphere and his lips. 

 

“Ben!” The voice called again. He whipped around to see a figure cloaked in black and no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn’t discern its voice. It was approaching him. Black boots sinking into the deep snow. Low hum of a lightsaber. Tall, threatening. His heart was thrumming within his chest, threatening to break itself out. 

 

Overwhelmed, he began to run. He didn’t need to turn his head to know the figure was pursuing him. The material his boots were made out of was laughably unsuitable for the snowy environment. The cold digged into his skin.

 

Trees started to pitch forward, the ground sustaining them collapsing on itself. Fallen trees littered the path ahead, forcing him to leap over or take time consuming circumventions. 

 

The presence behind only seemed to gain on him, no matter how his feet ran.  

 

“Never too late for the truth. Leave here with me. Come home,” the figured called out once more. It had the voice of an older man. Although the voice was rough and possessed the grace of a nerf herder, the plea was cooing, lulling him with a siren’s song. 

 

“No,  _ nonononononono _ ,” he started saying under his breath. He tried to think of an image of a lightsaber, tried to think of crossguard blades, a Kyber crystal, and a crackling drone, tried to materialize it within his hand. Nothing came. His heartbeat was roaring in his ears now. 

 

A tree felled in front of him. Two meters behind him was the figure. In his panic, he had not registered that the figure had gained on his trail. Its lightsaber had an ghostly blue glow. 

 

With the voice of a young woman, it said matter-of-factly, “You’re afraid...”

 

“No—” He tried to answer but his voice was caught by a phantom grasp on his throat. The figure made a pinching motion and now he was struggling, clawing at the invisible hands crushing his neck. The pressure at his neck was cold, bereft of the warmth of a human. Whatever it was, it was not pleased it had been interrupted. 

 

“...that you will never be as strong as—Darth Vader!” It released its vice-like grip on his throat.

 

He barely got a breath in before the figure moved again. With one swift motion, it plunged its blade into his gut. A warm, wet liquid began to seep out from him. 

 

He closed his eyes and then snapped them open. 

 

He was in his chamber again. No howling winds, no cataclysmic destruction, no pursuing figures.

 

Kylo Ren learned, for certain, two things: that he was afraid, and that he needed a change of pants.  

**Author's Note:**

> This was not as kink orientated as I intended it to be... I fell on my keyboard and it sort of just snowballed into something more deeper and introspective. 
> 
> At the end of the day, though, Kylo Ren still pisses his fucking pants.


End file.
